Non-canonical subcharpter: Aragorn (Territory War.)

Territory War SubChapter1: Aragorn (non canonical)

The city of Archosaur. The world's center of trade, and a base from which to defend against the endless hoards of evil ones. This ancient bastion has been captured by evil however. A different sort of evil though... An evil of steel and death, ruthless slaughter of opposition. An unstoppable war machine. Calamity.

Archosaur. Majestic, with its towering Spires and immense statues at every turn. The pale stones of the colossal walls glimmered in the afternoon sun. Fountains showered surrounding lilies with sparkling water. Leaves of the many trees swayed in a gentle breeze. The sweet smelling breeze tickled the blossoms of the apple trees. Butterflies and honey bees danced about, enjoying the supple warmth of the sun. Birds of many varieties chirped and sang to their neighbors, and all was well.

Oblivious to such tantalizing beauty were the residents of the city; they milled about, hawking their goods or looking for a good buy. They never bent to smell the rose, or stopped to smile at the face of the sun. They were utterly self absorbed. An easy crowd to get lost in. Such was the thought of Aragorn as he threw back his head and downed the last of his ale. The flask dropped beside him under the shade of two birches whose trunks crossed and joined together midway up. He paused and let loose a monstrous belch that drew the look of a few passersby. He sighed with pure joy and contentedness and watched the flitting wildlife amidst this great city. Two squirrels zipped around the trunk of a great oak, and Aragorn loosed a booming laugh.

Time seemed to slow, and the world seemed safe for once.
"I never thought I would feel this joy again.", sighed Aragorn. He closed his eyes and felt the world pass by.

Time slowed once again, but the hairs on the back of Aragorn's neck prickled with the age old training of a Blademaster. His eyes snapped open. Someone was watching him, hunting him. He slowly looked about, keeping his blissful smile on his face and pretending to watch a butterfly dance around the square. A man masked by the shadow of an awning looked away. A woman standing at a fruit vendor glanced over her shoulder at him. Two men gazed intently at him as they walked by. The whole world seemed suspect. The familiar feeling of dread and suspicion slipped back into his heart.

"P'raps I've had a lil' bit too much to drink.", Aragorn muttered to himself. A trickle of ale dribbled down his unshaven face. He half closed his eyes, still wary of his surroundings. But he started to think of the old days, the days of his adventures. His old friends. He remembered how they had laughed together during battle and how they had saved each other's lives more than once. How he owed them so much. And how he had left. Aragorn had forsaken them, after her death. He had abandoned the ways of war when his lover was struck down in battle. His heart tightened with sorrow and remorse. Slowly he drifted to sleep ,aided by the persuasive stupor of liquor, forgetting the danger of stalkers and wraiths. Dreaming of his lost love. He remember her so beautiful. So beautiful...

The men moved out of the shadows. One said to the other, "Ha. The fool is blasted out of his mind! Look. He damn near pissed on himself!" He pointed to the wet stain on the dirt, and they laughed jovially as they went about their work. Tie his feet. Tie his hands. They carried the limp form of Aragorn between them and slipped into the crowd. Nobody stopped them. Nobody made obvious notice of them. Nobody cared that Aragorn was being hauled off to the dungeons of the keep by strange men. Who would dare challenge them? Nobody. For this was Their city.

The City of the steel army.
The City of blood red banners.
The City of Calamity.




This is non-canonical to Burst's story. That means that this does not necissarily have anything at all to do with any of his writings. Only if he wishes it does this play into his plot.